


A Feather-Light Touch

by lalaland666 (orphan_account)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Smut, Touch-Starved Aziraphale (Good Omens), all the feelings, but there is a bit that can be interpreted as post-smut, just like, no betas we fall like angels, or it’s just post-crying, so many feelings, up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lalaland666
Summary: All they’re doing is holding hands. So why does Aziraphale feel like he’s about to melt in Crowley’s grip?The Apocalypse has been averted, and Aziraphale is (mostly) out of Heaven’s control, and finally free to express himself how he wants. The only question remaining is whether or not he can actually manage to do it.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 314





	A Feather-Light Touch

**Author's Note:**

> so this is some self-indulgent garbage where the Projectionpality Aziraphale and I work through some issues together lol 
> 
> I do still hope y’all like it!

It had happened in a moment of absurd bravery on Aziraphale’s part. 

As Crowley had been sitting down on the bus, his hand had hovered for a moment, seeming like it was halfway reaching in the angel’s direction, and Aziraphale had taken it. 

And now they were holding hands, and it was all Aziraphale could think about. The feel of Crowley’s hand in his, gentle and warm, fingers long and narrow and slotted between his own, the palm of it surprisingly soft, and Aziraphale cast his mind back. It seemed impossible that they’d never held hands before, but thinking back on it… he rather thought they hadn’t. 

It was all rather overwhelming, Aziraphale thought, the way Crowley’s hand felt in his, the way the back of it brushed up against the outside of Aziraphale’s leg whenever the bus hit a bump, which it did fairly often. 

And then Crowley started moving, stroking gentle circles with his thumb, and Aziraphale had to fight to keep from reacting, from gasping or shuddering or doing any other manner of embarrassing things. It was just a bit of hand-holding; humans did it all the time, enough that it was entirely normal, completely unremarkable. It was absurd that Aziraphale was having such a strong reaction to it. He had to get himself under control. 

To his left, Crowley’s brow furrowed on concern, and he whispered, “Alright, angel?” 

“Perfectly,” said Aziraphale, smiling slightly, and to reassure his demon he gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and Crowley smiled back, leaning his head against the window once more, his head still never turning from Aziraphale’s face. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath as subtly as he could, steadying himself. He was holding Crowley’s hand, and it was perfectly alright. It was normal. 

Or, well. It could be. 

The rest of the ride passed in complete silence, and when the bus eventually stopped just outside of Crowley’s flat, he and Aziraphale stood as one, their hands never breaking apart, not as they departed, not as Aziraphale flicked the fingers of his free hand towards the bus-driver absentmindedly, ensuring him a lovely tip and the next day off with pay for his trouble, not even as they made their way into the building, into Crowley’s flat. 

It was only once they stood in the entryway that Aziraphale came back to himself, pulling his hand free– why was that so hard to do, it shouldn’t have been nearly so difficult– and clearing his throat. 

Crowley shrugged his coat off, his brow furrowing again. “You sure you’re alright, angel? Did Adam mess up re-corporating you?” 

“No, no,” said Aziraphale, waving his hand lightly, and it felt so empty and cold without Crowley’s in it. “I’m just… tired, I suppose.” That must be it. Of course. He was tired. That would explain it. 

Right? 

“Right,” said Crowley, the crease in his brow only barely lessening. “C’mon, I’ve got food and wine and a bed– though, you don’t really sleep, do you? You’re still welcome to it, if you want, I wouldn’t blame you.” 

“I think I’ll be alright, dear,” said Aziraphale, smiling again. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t–“ Crowley began. 

Then he paused. “Huh. Guess I don’t need to do that anymore, do I?” 

“No,” said Aziraphale, feeling his smile widen. “Not if you don’t want to.” 

Crowley tilted his head slightly. “Don’t think I do, much.” Then he shook himself slightly. “C’mon, angel. Kitchen’s this way. Let’s get you something to eat.” 

Aziraphale follows Crowley into the flat, winding down the grey halls to eventually perch upon one of two very sleek, modern barstools beside a little island in a sparsely-decorated kitchen. Crowley took the other stool, somehow managing to sprawl even on the rather tiny seat. It was empty here, and odd, but not entirely unwelcoming. It reminded Aziraphale a little of Heaven, of how it had been before the first war. 

Aziraphale pushed that thought to the back of his mind, instead choosing to focus on his overreaction to the hand-holding. It simply boggled the mind. It wasn’t like Aziraphale and Crowley never touched. Not even five days ago, Crowley had slammed him up against a wall, for Heaven’s sake! And if his nose had tingled where it had brushed up against Crowley’s for the rest of the day afterwards, and if he’d been so distracted by the brush of contact that he had hardly noticed the interruption of the former nun until Crowley had looked away from him, well, that was to be expected in such a situation, was it not? And, of course, there had been other touches before. Taps on the shoulder, the arm, the occasional brush of fingers as they passed objects back and forth. And if each of them tended to send a shiver up Aziraphale’s spine, if they tended to leave him shaken for days afterwards, well. That was simply because of how illicit the entire thing had been. Touching was a risk, every time they did it; it was no surprise that he was thrown off by it. 

But Crowley had said it, just a minute ago. It didn’t matter anymore. So why was Aziraphale’s entire hand itching, and why was his whole body quivering slightly? 

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice cut through his reverie. 

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes refocusing on the demon, hoping he hadn’t missed anything terribly important. 

Crowley had taken off his sunglasses, and those gorgeous yellow eyes were gazing back at him, narrowed ever so slightly in concern. “Were you listening to me?” 

Aziraphale sighed, straightening his waistcoat slightly. “I… I’m so very sorry, dear, I was… somewhat distracted. What were you saying?” 

“Just asking if you wanted wine or scotch,” said Crowley, his eyes still narrowed, his brow still creased. “Angel, what’s wrong? You’re never like this.” 

_Just not in front of you, my dear,_ Aziraphale thought. Out loud, he said, “As I said, I’m just… tired, I think. And I could do with some scotch right now, I think.” 

That caused the furrow in Crowley’s brow to deepen. “You only ever drink scotch when you’re drunk.” 

“And we only ever touch by accident, Crowley, but tonight is bringing with it a lot of unprecedented things,” said Aziraphale, trying his best to smile consolingly. “I think I could rather do with something a little stronger than wine just about now.” 

“Shit,” muttered Crowley. “It’s about the hand-holding, isn’t it? I’m sorry, angel, I should’ve known you were uncomfortable, of course you didn’t want to hold my bloody hand the whole bus ride–“ 

“Dearest,” said Aziraphale in another moment of bravery, reaching out and resting his hand, lightly, on Crowley’s forearm, ignoring the shiver it sent down his spine, forcing it not to show– he knew it would only scare his demon further. “If I had wanted to stop holding your hand at any point, I could have. I’m just… a little overwhelmed, in that regard. As it were. I’ve never really…” He swallowed. “It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve really touched someone.” Then he laughed, shaking his head slightly, reluctantly– so reluctantly– drawing his hand away, feeling the way his palm tingled as he did. “It’s rather silly, I’m afraid. Absolutely nothing to be concerned about.” 

Crowley blinked. “How long?” 

“Pardon?” asked Aziraphale. 

“How long has it been?” asked Crowley. “Since you… touched someone?” 

“Well,” said Aziraphale, his hands fluttering together to rest in his lap, “when I danced more regularly, that involved a fair bit of contact. But before that, and since…” Aziraphale shrugged. “Heaven doesn’t exactly encourage wanton physical contact with humans, and, well. Most angels aren’t exactly affectionate.” 

Crowley stared for a long moment, long enough that Aziraphale began to grow worried. 

Then he cleared his throat and said, softly, “D’you… d’you want a hug?” 

Aziraphale froze. “Sorry?” 

Crowley let out a groan. “Never mind. I’m sorry, angel, I was just thinking– but no, I’m going to fast, I’m sorry, you just said angels aren’t affectionate–“ 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, and then– yet another moment of bravery, he wasn’t entirely sure where these were coming from– he stood up, reached out, and pulled Crowley into his arms. 

This time, he couldn’t hold back his shiver at the feeling, at the warmth of Crowley’s body against his, at the way they fit together like they were made to, at the way Crowley’s arms slowly, oh so slowly, crept around to rest gently on Aziraphale’s back. 

“You can hug me back,” said Aziraphale, his voice muffled slightly by Crowley’s shoulder, as he pulled the demon a little closer. “I’m not about to break.” 

And Crowley obliged immediately, of course he did, and his arms wound around Aziraphale and pulled him close and held him tightly, so tightly, and his head dropped forwards so that it was resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder, the little puffs of his breath ghosting across the angel’s neck, and it was all so overwhelming, but Aziraphale never wanted it to end. He closed his eyes, shivering again, soaking in the contact, the warmth, the comfort, the _love_ he could feel positively pouring out of his demon, and he’d felt it before, of course he had, but never had it been so _concentrated_ , so strong that Aziraphale felt he was floating in it. 

“I thought I lost you,” Crowley breathed, quietly enough that Aziraphale felt the words as much as he heard them. “I thought you were dead, angel. I couldn’t feel you, and… and…” 

Something damp landed on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and he pulled Crowley closer, rubbing his back gently, fighting against his own tears. 

“I’m here,” he breathed. “I’m here. And I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon.” 

Crowley let out a small, dejected sigh. “Not sure how much of a choice we’re getting on that. Our head offices are pissed.” 

“We’ve managed to dodge them for six thousand years,” said Aziraphale gently. “We can manage it once more, I think. And we have Agnes to help us, as well.” 

Crowley nodded, and again, Aziraphale felt it rather than seeing it, felt the way the demon’s sharp chin dug into the flesh of his shoulder, felt the brush of their cheeks against one another, and he fought back another shiver. 

Crowley tensed, ever so slightly, and Aziraphale pulled him closer. 

“Sorry,” Crowley muttered. 

“Don’t be,” said Aziraphale, his voice quiet, wavering slightly as he spoke. “I’m the one who ought to be sorry.” 

“No,” said Crowley immediately, drawing back just far enough that he could look into his angel’s eyes and cup his jaw with one hand. 

At the brush of Crowley’s fingers against his face, Aziraphale closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, fighting back her another shiver, and what was _wrong_ with him, why was he so overcome by such light touches? They were such small things. 

“Angel…” Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale forced himself to open his eyes once more, meeting the golden gaze looking back at him, worry and adoration there in equal measure. 

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, his voice quiet. “I’m so, so, terribly sorry. I’m sorry for pushing you away, for hurting you, over and over and over again. I was trying to protect you, I was so afraid of what Hell would do to you if they found out, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t bear–“ His voice broke, but he ignored it, ignored rn tears building in his eyes, pressing on. “I hurt you, terribly, and I can never make up for it, and I’m so, so, so sorry–“ 

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, and then his thumb was brushing against Aziraphale’s skin again, against the cheek he was cupping this time, and Aziraphale closed his eyes again, fighting back the tears that were dangerously close to spilling now. 

Crowley kept talking. “Angel, I know. I know why you did it. I just… it’s just us, now. We’re on our own side. For real, now. I love you, angel. I always have. And… and if you’ll have me… it doesn’t matter what you said. Any of those times. I love you.” 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed, not daring to open his eyes, not daring to look over at his demon. 

Instead, he did the only thing that seemed to make sense. He swayed forwards and pressed their lips together. 

For a second, just a second, Crowley froze, and panic flared up in Aziraphale’s mind. He’d never done this before. What if he was doing it wrong, what if he was messing it up, what if– 

Then Crowley whined, melting into the kiss, their mouths opening against each other, and at the first brush of Crowley’s tongue against his, Aziraphale nearly sobbed. 

Crowley pulled back immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, angel, that was too bloody fast–“ 

“No,” said Aziraphale, balling his hands in Crowley’s jacket, finally opening his eyes. “No, it wasn’t. I’m just… oh, I don’t know why I’m being like this, I’ve seen humans do it so many times over the centuries and they never–!” 

“I reckon most of them aren’t touch-starved for six thousand years,” said Crowley, his voice so gentle, his gaze even gentler. “Just… if it gets to be too much, let me know, okay?” 

Aziraphale nodded, still struggling against his tears. It was all too much, of course, the feel of Crowley’s hand on his face and the gentle pressure of their bodies against one another and the way Aziraphale could feel the muscles in Crowley’s back moving ever so slightly as the demon leaned forwards, and oh, God, the way it felt to kiss him, the meeting of their lips, like they had been meant to fit together since the day they were created… 

Over the course of six thousand years, the Principality Aziraphale had seen a lot of terrible things. He’d been forced to watch the Flood, the plagues in Egypt, countless wars and the innumerable casualties that accompanied them, a near infinite cacophony of disease and death and suffering never ending. Aziraphale was, at his core, a gentle, loving being, and it always hurt him terribly, to see other creatures in pain. He was incredibly familiar with the feeling of his throat closing up, of his eyes beginning to blur, of the way he would have to clench his entire body to stem the flood of emotions that always threatened to get the better of him, of the fear that accompanied any particularly strong feeling– angels didn’t cry. Crying was weakness. It was _human_. And so, despite all his pains, all his suffering, all the hurt he’d seen and endured, Aziraphale had never once shed a tear, not in six thousand years. 

Not until his mouth opened again to Crowley’s, powerless in his grasp, and the floodgates finally opened. 

Crowley drew back again, and Aziraphale squeezes his eyes shut, trying his best to hold back the tears, even as they eluded his will, slipping down his cheeks. 

“Angel…” Crowley breathed, his voice so gentle, so reassuring, and Aziraphale bit back a sob. 

“I… I’m sorry,” said Aziraphale, not daring to open his eyes. “I... I’ve never... I should be stronger than this, I’m so terribly sorry, Crowley...” 

Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s gaze, feel the intensity of the care pouring off of it, and he if he could see it, too… he wasn’t sure he could handle that. 

When the demon spoke, his voice was just as gentle as his hands, as his eyes. “It’s alright, angel. You don’t have to apologize for feeling things. Not to me. Never to me. I’m here.” 

And he pulled Aziraphale closer again, the hand that was on the angel’s cheek moving instead to the back of his head, encouraging Aziraphale to rest his head against Crowley’s chest, the demon in turn resting his chin on the top of Aziraphale’s head, his other hand moving in gentle, comforting circles against Aziraphale’s back, warm and reassuring even though the layers of fabric. 

It was that, the gentle, soothing motion of Crowley’s hand, that tipped Aziraphale over the edge. He sobbed, clutching at Crowley like a lifeline, like an anchor, six thousand years worth of emotions– pain and fear and sorrow, yes, but also joy and hope and laughter and love, love, love, so much love, pouring out of him all at once in an unstoppable deluge of tear, and through it all, there was Crowley, holding him tight, murmuring indistinctly into his hair, the hand on his neck and his back anchors against the flood. 

At some point, Aziraphale tilted his head up, his hand rising to tangle in Crowley’s gorgeous flame-red hair, pulling him into another kiss, and Aziraphale could taste the salt of his own tears on his lips, and his body was still wracked with sobs, but it was another anchor, another point Aziraphale could use to ride out the storm. 

“I love you,” he whispered into his demon’s lips, confessions spoken between kisses and cries and made all the more sincere for it. There was no holding back. Not anymore. “I love you. I love you more than anything. Oh, Crowley, I’ve loved you so long I don’t know when it started. You are the most important thing in the universe to me, I love you more than anything, and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, my love, my darling, my dearest, I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it, I love you…” 

Crowley just kissed him more fiercely, his hand holding Aziraphale’s head still, as the last of the sobs passed by, leaving only panting, hitching breaths and tear-streaked cheeks in their wake. 

Aziraphale drew back, ever so slightly, and opened his eyes to see Crowley staring back at him, and the wave of love that washed over them both had Aziraphale’s mind reeling. 

“I love you, angel,” Crowley breathed again, and then he was kissing his angel once more, deeper this time, hungrier, and Aziraphale responded in kind, a strange, electric thrill still rushing through his body at ever touch, and now the thrill was deepening into something else. 

Suddenly, Crowley pulled back, sucking in a deep breath. 

Aziraphale felt a jolt of panic in his chest. “I’m sorry, did I–“ 

“No,” said Crowley quickly, shaking his head, and Aziraphale noticed that the yellow of his eyes had bled out into the whites, and his lips were swollen and his hair was mussed and he looked utterly and irresistible gorgeous as he spoke, his voice quaking with want. “Don’t apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong. I just… I don’t wanna go too fast–“ 

“Dearest,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley shivered slightly at the endearment, and Aziraphale thought he knew how he felt, it was the same feeling that ran though his body as he brought his hand down from those russet-red locks to run his fingers gently over Crowley’s cheek, his jaw, down to his neck, to the collar of his shirt, “you aren’t going too fast. I… I don’t think there _is_ such a thing as too fast for me, not anymore.” 

Crowley swallowed, his eyes opening to meet Aziraphale’s once more, pupils blown wide. “If I… if I do start to go too fast. Will you tell me?” 

Aziraphale nodded. 

“Promise?” asked Crowley, his voice insistent and his gaze desperate. 

“I promise,” said Aziraphale, his voice as soft and gentle as he could make it with his throat still sore from crying. “Now... oh, my love, my dearest, would you kiss me again?” 

Crowley was only too happy to oblige. 

Some time later, the two entities lay together, close as could be, in Crowley’s bed. Aziraphale’s head was resting on Crowley’s shoulder, and their bodies were pressed up against one another and legs tangled together beneath the covers. 

Aziraphale pulled himself closer to his beloved demon, tilting his head up, slightly, unable to hold back a smile as Crowley lifted his head to give Aziraphale a gentle kiss before slumping back again, his eyes drifting closed. 

He was beautiful, Aziraphale thought, hardly for the first time, nor for the last. 

That thought gave him pause. This new thing they had found, this gentle vulnerability that had always been there but had never really had the opportunity to show itself fully, this free exchange of love with no conditions, no boundaries… now that he had it, _really_ had it, Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought of losing it. 

He was hardly concerned for his own safety, just like always; regardless of the actual goodness of Heaven, or how angry Gabriel might be with him, the fact of the matter was that angels were incredibly difficult to destroy. Unlike demons. If the demons of Hell could get their hands on enough blessed artifacts, of nearly any variety, they could eventually destroy Crowley completely, and it would be an exceedingly painful death. For angels, on the other hand, there was hardly anything, short of proper hellfire, that could destroy them. 

Aziraphale paused. Hellfire… 

_Playing with fyre_ … 

He stared down at Crowley, sleeping so peacefully, his brow smoothed over for once, his beautiful face unworried, however briefly, by their impending doom. 

His face… 

His _face_ … 

_Choofe your faces wisely_ … 

“I’ve got it!” Aziraphale cried, hope filling his chest up like a balloon, so intense he feared briefly that he might float away. 

“Got what?” Crowley mumbled, only opening his eyes halfway. 

“The prophecy,” Aziraphale said, sitting up, pulling Crowley with him. He couldn’t quite bear to have any distance between them. Not just yet. 

“What about it?” asked Crowley, suddenly awake, properly now. 

“I think I’ve figured it out,” said Aziraphale. “It might… well. It’s a bit of a long shot. But… but I do think it’s worth it.” 

“I’m willing to try anything,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but brush his lips against Crowley’s, ever so gently, just for a moment, relishing now in the wave of love it set off, in the warmth it stirred in his chest. 

Then he began to explain. 

A day later, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves in the back room of the bookshop like so many times before, halfway through a bottle of wine and discussing the changes Adam had made to reality. In most regards, it was a perfectly normal evening between the two of them. 

One thing was different, though. Tonight, Aziraphale sat on the couch, not the armchair, with Crowley draped over top of him, warm and gentle and relaxed, and though Aziraphale still melted at every brush of their bodies together, and he expected he would for quiet some time. It didn’t matter. Time was something they had in abundance, now. Time, and love, and acceptance, and each other. 

They had done it. They were free.

**Author's Note:**

> congrats, you made it to the end of my mess!!! i hope y’all liked it. kudos and comments are always super appreciated, thank you!!!!!!


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